


Paintings of Solitary Sandpipers

by jaybird_elliott2020



Series: Son of Robin [6]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha Jason Todd, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Arguements, Depressed Damian Wayne, Depressed Tim Drake, Discussion of Abortion, Disscussion of Self-Harm, Family Feels, Hospitalizaton, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Hospital, Omega Damian Wayne, Omega Tim Drake, Past Abuse, Past Mpreg, Past Relationship(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt, Therapy, Trauma Informed Parenting, Vomit, Vomiting, breif mentions of Drug Use, discussion of teen pregnancy, discussion of trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:01:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25575484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaybird_elliott2020/pseuds/jaybird_elliott2020
Summary: Damian attempts suicide. His family, reeling and splitting, he must find his way back to himself, back to his mother's arms.
Relationships: Damian Wayne/Colin Wilkes, Tim Drake/Jason Todd
Series: Son of Robin [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1839805
Comments: 10
Kudos: 138





	1. A Failed Goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> Yo! I currently don't have anymore plans for new works. I've been just chilling and going with the flow with this series so far, just writing what came to me, but I don't have anything lined up. 
> 
> That said, I'll be open to suggestions and asks for what you guys want to see from me from now until August 26th. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy and I hope to hear from you. 😁
> 
> \--Jason Elliott

Bash was still young enough to be extremely sensitive to smells but old enough to decipher them. He knows the sulfurous smell of distress. He knows the metallic smell of decay. He knows the lemon smell of fear. Because of this, he’s the one who finds Damian.

Bash is crying, pressed into the wall and trying to close his eyes, disappear from the scene unfolding in front of him.

Jason is crouched over him, feeling for a pulse.

Tim’s hands shake while he dials 911, Jason’s voice telling him what to do the only thing that’s keeping him from collapsing beside them. Tim’s chest feels empty.

~ ~ ~

Damian woke up in the dark. His limbs were heavy, his head felt like it was full of cotton. It all hurt. His chest. His head. His heart. His throat. He vaguely remembered screaming. He remembered crying a lot. He remembered feeling completely alone.

He leaned forward, trying to sit up but finding his hands strapped down to the hospital bed. The movement woke someone in the corner though. Damian couldn’t see that far. He doesn’t know who it is that is walking towards his bed. His pulse quickens, his fists clench, his breath feels like it’s strangling him.

“Dami,” his mother’s voice comes.

“Mom?” Damian said, relaxing a little, but the on-edge feeling in his chest lingering.

Tim sat down on the bed and reached out, his clammy palm pressing into Damian’s cheek.

“I …” he began, letting everything he planned to say when Damian woke up die in his throat. He stood, relinquishing his touch. “I’m going to call your father.”

Damian’s heart skipped. Was Jason not there? Had he not been by Tim’s side? By _Damian’s_ side?

“O-ok,” Damian whispered. He watched his mother leave.

As he laid in the quiet dark of the hospital room, he tried to think about how he got there.

The details were fuzzy. He remembered Bash coming in. Then Jason. Then Tim. At least, it seemed, Izzie hadn’t seen him. Then he was in the back seat of something one wheels (Jason’s, truck he thinks, because it smells like gunpowder), his head in Tim’s lap. He stirred because someone was shining a flashlight in his eye. Then nothing. He thought maybe he died, for a second, because after, when the nothing came, he felt calm. Then he woke up.

Now he was strapped to a hospital bed, his mother crying outside his door while he talked on the phone with his dad. Now, he felt everything.

~ ~ ~

“I’m gonna be back,” Jason promised Bash, who was hanging tightly around Jason’s neck as he tried to leave. “Grandpa is gonna stay with you. It’s gonna be ok.”

“Don’t go,” Bash whimpered, squeezing tighter.

“I have to,” Jason said, though he wrapped his own arms around Bash as well. “I have to check on your brother.”

“I want to come,” Bash demanded, finally pulling away. “Take me with you.”

“Not this time,” Jason said. He turned to Bruce who was standing off and letting Bash say his goodbyes. “Try and keep them up until one of us comes back?”

“Yeah,” Bruce said, the neutral tone of his voice shadowed by something else. Something Jason hadn’t heard in a long time.

“Don’t go,” Bash stated again, this time quieter, with less conviction, like he knew this was a battle he would loose.

Jason started for the door, Bash clinging to his leg.

“Bruce,” Jason called.

Bruce came over and pried Bash away, holding him tightly in his arms, effectively restraining him. Bash became hysterical. He cried out. He kicked his legs. He even tried to bite Bruce.

Bruce held steady and Jason walked to the door, leaving quickly. He had to wipe his eyes before he got in the car.

~ ~ ~

Tim was pacing outside Damian’s room, biting his thumb raw. When Jason showed up, he was bleeding.

“What are you doing out here? Did something happen?” Jason asked, looking over Tim’s shoulder to try and see into the dark room.

“I can’t …” Tim began, before choking up. He clamped his hand over his mouth, barely muffling his sob.

Jason guided him away from the door. Once he was convinced they were out of earshot, he took his husband up in his arms, stroking his back and trying to be as soothing as he could with the slight tinge of distress in his scent.

“I can’t look at him,” Tim cried out. “My baby …”

“It’s ok,” Jason hummed. He knew it wasn’t. He knew it wouldn’t be. “Don’t worry. He’ll understand. I’ll go in, check on him. I can tell you how he is.”

“He’s my baby,” Tim sobbed, his lips moving pitifully against Jason’s chest. “M-my baby.”

Jason just rubbed Tim’s back. “I know,” he said. “I know.”

~ ~ ~

When Damian woke up again, the room was filled with sunshine. There was a doctor hanging over him, unwrapping the bandages around his wrists. He noticed Damian open his eyes, but didn’t say anything.

“Are you a doctor?” Damian said, lamely, feeling like he needed to say _something_.

The doctor nodded. “Dr. House.”

Damian quirked an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Nah,” the doctor chuckled, “surprised you got the reference.”

“My mom likes it,” Damian explained, shifting. This time the restraints were gone. He wasn’t sure why.

“I took them off,” the doctor said. He must have noticed Damian staring. “You didn’t need them. I don’t think you need them. Don’t make me think you need them.”

The doctor is a little playful, a little serious. He reminded Damian of Jason.

“Where’s my mom?” Damian asked.

“He left,” the doctor said, very matter of fact. “Your dad’s in the hall. He’s waiting for you to wake up.”

“Don’t tell him I’m awake,” Damian said, quickly.

The doctor paused. He had been rewrapping the gauze holding Damian’s stiches. He looked at Damian like he was trying to figure him out.

“Ok,” he finally said, shrugging and finishing the wrap. “He might come in. You want me to tell him you can’t have visitors today?”

Damian shook his head. “No. I want to see him. Just … I need a minute.”

“Ok,” the doctor said.

Damian had to look away when the doctor moved to redress the other arm.

“All done,” the doctor announced when he taped the gauze down. “How you feel?”

“Fine, I guess,” Damian mumbled, moving his hands under the sheets.

“Not tired?” the doctor wondered.

Damian shrugged. “A little.”

“Wanna go back to sleep? I’ll turn out the light?” the doctor asked.

Damian shook his head. “I … I don’t feel tired like that.”

The doctor nodded, the _I understand_ clear in his face. He started for the door.

“Actually,” Damian said, just loud enough for the doctor to hear, “can you tell my dad I’m awake.”

“Sure,” the doctor said. He put his hand on the door. Almost playfully, he turned over his shoulder and grinned at Damian. “Anything else?”

Damian raised an eyebrow thinking for a moment before realizing what he had forgotten.

“What your real name?” Damian asked, grinning back.

The doctor’s smile grew even wider. He left without answering.

A few minutes later, Jason walked in. When Damian met his eyes, everything crumbled. He teared up, had to look away.

Jason came up to his bed slowly.

“I scared them,” Damian said, shifting his hands under the sheets.

He saw Jason bow his head in the corner of his eye.

  
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. Tears threaten to spill onto his cheeks, but Damian blinks them away, keeps his lips from wavering, takes deep belly breaths.

Jason shook his head and fell to his knees. He pushed his face into the side of the bed.

“No,” he said. It’s the first time Damian has heard him speak in what feels like forever. He sounds so broken. “It’s not your fault. It’s not.”

“It is,” Damian stated, his voice wavering.

“I saw the warning signs,” Jason whispered. “I know them. I saw them. I knew this would happen. I knew it. I should’ve … I should’ve tried harder. T-to help.”

Damian shed his first tear when Jason’s breath stuttered. Just one, he told himself.

“You don’t … you aren’t responsible for me, for this,” Damian said, trying to hold back from reaching out and holding Jason’s hand. “It was my choice.”

“I should’ve helped,” Jason declared, his fist tightening on the sheets. “Because I _am_ , I am responsible for you, for your happiness, for your health, for your life. You’re my _son_. My _kid_. I’m supposed … I’m supposed to protect you.”

Damian can’t look at him. He can’t. Because if he does then he doesn’t think he’ll ever get his breath back.

~ ~ ~

The doctor returned holding a clipboard and green Jell-O. Jason had went home for the day. Bruce would be coming in a few hours to sit with him. There was always someone there. They were all trying desperately to show him he wasn’t alone. Damian wanted to believe them.

“Hi there,” the doctor said to Damian.

He received a smile in reply. The doctor had become something good in Damian’s day. Something he could smile at.

“Brought Jell-O,” the doctor said, like Damian couldn’t see, even made sure to shake it up at the light before setting it on the table.

“Thanks,” Damian replied.

The doctor sat by Damian’s bedside.

“Are you gonna tell me your name?” Damian asked, peeling back the foil on the Jell-O cup.

“I already told you,” the doctor said.

“I’m not calling you Dr. House,” Damian declared. He took a defiant bite of Jell-O.

“Suit yourself.”

A moment passed.

“You have something to tell me,” Damian deduced.

“Can’t slip anything by you,” the doctor replied. He pulled the chart, glanced over a few things, then looked back up at Damian. “We’re recommending in-patient. Thirty days.”

Damian winced. “Recommending?”

“Not really. We’re telling you. You’re going to in-patient,” the doctor said.

“I’m sixteen, can’t I refuse? Don’t I have, like, medical autonomy or whatever?” Damian nearly pleaded.

“You’re a danger to yourself.” The doctor was gentle.

“And?”

“And, as your doctor, I can’t, in good conscious—or legally for that matter—send you home with a clean bill of health. You need more, hands-on care.”

“What if I promise not to do it again? To take my meds like a good kid? Go back to therapy? For real?”

“Doesn’t work like that, Damian.”

“Did my parents already sign off?”

“Your dad.”

“I’m disowning him. He’s disowned.”

“Still doesn’t work like that.”

Damian sighed and put his Jell-O down. He pulled his knees up to his chest.

“Will … will I have to stay the whole thirty days?”

“Yup.”

“Can I still see my family?”

“They can visit, yes.”

“And my sister, she has this pageant at her pre-school in a few weeks, can I see it? Will I … will I be able to leave?” That was a lie. Damian wanted to know if he could escape.

“No, I’m afraid not.”

“Oh. Ok.”

The doctor stood up again.

“It’s gonna be ok, Damian. You’ll breeze through. Back to normal high school hijinx before you can say ‘selfie.’”

“That’s cringe,” Damian teased.

“ _So_ cringe.”

~ ~ ~

They monitored him for a few days longer than they should have. Damian thought Tim was behind it, worried and dedicated to Damian getting better. He was a hard person to say no to. On the last day before he was supposed to move to in-patient, Damian asked Jason where Tim was.

Jason got quiet, looked at his hands and avoided the pained look his oldest son wore like armor.

“He’s home,” is all Jason can manage to say.

“Is he going to come see me? Before I leave?” Damian asked. He wanted to hear it. He wanted Jason to say it. He wanted to know for sure.

Jason shook his head. He didn’t lie about why. He didn’t say anything. He just shook his head.

Damian decided he would be alone. Like before, in his bedroom, when he decided to end his life, he would be alone.


	2. Paint and Trauma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian's time at the mental hospital.

Damian doesn’t like the socks. Or the room. Or his roommate. Or anything about being there. He feels crazy. He feels like a little kid.

Someone comes in the mornings to give them meds, watch them swallow and make them open their mouths after. Damian thinks the pills taste like acid. He swallows them all. His roommate does the same. Her name is Olivia. She’s got blonde hair. She also tried to kill herself. She’s an omega.

Her and Damian don’t talk but they understand one another silently, seek each other out in the common areas, sit next to each other in group, eat meals together. She’s older than Damian. She’s eighteen. Her parents call every day. She’s an only child. She has a six-month old.

Damian’s father calls too. He tells him about the house, how the pipes under the sink in the kitchen are leaky right now and he’s calling someone in to fix them because the last time he did it he ended up breaking it more. He tells him Bruce comes over for dinner most days after work, plays with Izzie and Bash, helps Jason get them ready for bed. He tell him when he plans to visit, asks if Damian wants Izzie and Bash to come along or if it might be too much, trust Damian when he says it will be ok that they sit with him for a while, that everyone here is nice and they like it when the little ones come visit. Damian tells Jason he misses them, misses being home. He tells him about Olivia and his other friends and the people he doesn’t really like and the therapist who gives him candy and the other therapist who talks to him like he’s three. He cries sometimes. He tries not to, but it happens.

The only thing they don’t talk about is Tim.

~ ~ ~

Olivia asks about Damian’s scars one night, after lights out.

“The ones on your back,” she says. “You can’t reach that.”

Damian shakes his head. “No. I got them when I was young.”

Olivia doesn’t press further. She shows Damian the ones on her thighs that she got from jumping off the roof and being thrown off a horse. She doesn’t talk about the ones she gave herself. It’s sort of an unspoken rule.

That night, Damian has a nightmare.

He wakes up sweaty and cold. His stomach roils and he rolls out bed fast enough to make it to the trash bin they keep by their dressers. It’s never had anything in it but vomit.

Olivia doesn’t wake up. She sleeps. Damian lets her, even though he thinks she would hold his hair back and rub his shoulders like his mother did when he was sick. He thinks Olivia makes a good mother, but he keeps that to himself.

Damian lays on his back. The floor is tile and cool, but not freezing. It feels good on his back, on his neck, on his arms. He breathes in through his nose. He can’t smell the vomit, he only smells the perfume Olivia wears, the musk of their natural scents mixing together. That makes his stomach turn a little again. He’s been here long enough Olivia and he smell of one another. Damian has never smelled of anyone before, no one except his family.

Damian falls asleep again on the floor. He dreams of his brother and sister holding him.

~ ~ ~

Jason comes to visit and immediately wants to take Damian away. He’s hunched over more. He’s thinner. His eyes are dark and puffy. He looks worn thin. Brittle.

“Hi,” he says, wrapping his arms around his son’s neck, pulling his head close.

“Hi,” Damian replies, his voice muffled by Jason’s shirt. He doesn’t hug back, but he presses his cheek snug to Jason’s shoulder. Jason is so much taller than him, so much larger, Damian feels nice being wrapped in his arms.

Bash and Izzie watch them patiently. It takes them a couple minutes to let each other go.

“Hi,” Damian says again, looking down at his brother and sister.

Bash looks away, but Izzie runs forward and wraps her arms around Damian’s legs.

“I miss you,” Izzie mumbled, squeezing Damian with all her might. “When you coming back?”

“Soon,” is all Damian says. He pets Izzie’s straight red hair against her neck. She’s the only one of them who has red hair.

The rest of the time they sit together in the sunroom. Izzie and Damian color while Jason talks to him. It’s the same talks as the phone calls, but they’re a little softer. Jason avoids saying anything about Damian’s bedroom, about the emptiness of the house, about Bash waking up crying most nights, about Tim. They mostly talk about Damian. What he does during the day, what he feels about coming home soon, what he’s done about Liam, who steals his pudding cups.

When it’s time for them to go, Damian hugs Jason, this time quicker, not letting himself feel the warmth and pleasant pressure of being held by his father. He hugs Izzie. He holds her a little longer, knelt on the ground. He thinks he misses her most. She’s so happy, so easy-going, so nice to be around. She understands him. They’re both omegas. They share a bond.

Then comes Bash.

Bash spent the whole time pressed up against Jason’s side, looking around the room at all the people, playing with his fingers, anything to avoid looking at Damian. He hasn’t said a word.

Damian looks at him, thinks about letting him go without saying goodbye. He can’t though. He just … he just can’t.

He pulls Bash into him, tightens his hold more than he did for even Izzie, knowing he can handle it. He’s stiff. He doesn’t hug back. So, Damian lets him go soon after.

Jason takes them home, leaving Damian with the promise to return again, though he never does. Damian feels worse than he did before.

~ ~ ~

Damian paints a lot. His therapist, the one with the candy, encourages him to express himself. Most of the paintings he does are full of fear, of hopelessness, of sad boys holding themselves alone. The therapist assures him this is ok, that Damian should continue painting what he feels, but Damian thinks they hurt him more than they help. He feels a weight on his shoulders, a pressure build in his chest, whenever he looks at the finished products. While he’s painting, it feels good. He feels a little happy, bubbles of a smile popping on his face. It’s when he’s done, when he sees what he’s created that he feels immense guilt. He’s here because of what he feels. He wants to stop feeling.

~ ~ ~

The therapist for group encourages but does not require participation. She is the one who treats Damian like a toddler. She talks to him in a soft, patronizing voice and coaxes him to share his secrets with the rest of the class.

Damian refuses. He says his name. He says how he feels today. But that’s it. He doesn’t detail it. He doesn’t cope. He just watches and listens.

“My daughter came today,” Olivia said. She smiles softly and so does the rest of the group, even Greg, who despises group almost as much as Damian. “She’s gotten so big. It feels like an eternity since I’ve seen her, even though it’s only been a few months. It’s the first time my mom has let me see her since I got here. She said she didn’t want to scare her.”

The therapist nods encouragingly.

Oliva continues.

“I don’t know if you know this, but my mom and I don’t get along great. I’ve always been a daddy’s girl, a little bit of tomboy. My mom thinks I should act more girly and more omegan. She thinks I’ll never get married, she thought I’d never have kids. We don’t agree on a lot of stuff, but I think she’s taking good care of my daughter. I think … I think she was right to keep her from me.”

“Have you talked to her about what will happen after you leave Meadowbrooke?” the therapist asks.

Meadowbrooke is the name of the facility. Damian thinks it’s a silly name, but perhaps that’s the point.

Olivia nods.

“She wants to keep Halie,” she says. Her voice breaks a little. She lets a tear fall. “I want to bring her back to my apartment. I want to be her mom.”

“Did you tell her? That’s what you wanted?” Damian says. He surprises everyone with his voice.

Oliva shakes her head.

“Why not?” the therapist prompts.

“I think … I think she’s right. To want to take her. I’m not a good mom. I didn’t … I couldn’t even hold myself together enough to stick around.”

“But do you still feel that way?”

Oliva thinks about it, then answers. “Only sometimes.” And her voice is happy.

The group nods. They all understand.

That feeling, it never actually goes away. It dulls, it moves, it sits quietly in the back of your mind and you can move forward away from it, but it’s still _there_. Damian thinks it always will be, but never says that aloud. He knows everyone will deny it (though he’s more afraid of them telling him he’s right).

It’s then that Damian lets himself sink into his chair. He thinks he’s having a breakthrough.

~ ~ ~

Olivia leaves before Damian. She’s been there for three months, recovering.

She tells Damian she’s going to try and settle in and get her daughter back. She seems hopeful, happy even. It only makes Damian think he was right before. His heart soars for her.

He hopes they never meet again.

~ ~ ~

Damian starts painting his brother.

He begins with the first day they met, the day Bash was born.

In the first painting, Bash is only a bundle of yellow and blue blankets, the colors for alpha boys. Damian has trouble painting himself but manages to finish in a few days.

In the next painting Bash is holding his hand, looking up. They stand in a field. It’s the one by Bruce’s house. The garden at the manor. Bash is younger than he is now. When Damian paints himself, he paints himself older.

“That’s good,” the therapist with the candy says when Damian shows her the paintings. “You paint yourself in the future. It’s good to look forward.”

Damian smiles. He’s happy for once.

~ ~ ~

The third painting is darker, and Damian thinks he might be falling back.

“Recovery isn’t linear,” the therapist tells him. “We bob and weave and bounce around the map before things even out.”

Damian runs his hands over the dried paint.

Bash is being crushed. He has his hands above him, pressing into a pillar that vanishes off the canvas. The pillar is crushing him.

Damian cries.

~ ~ ~

The new roommate is named Jules. He is a beta. He’s younger than Damian and is addicted to heroin. Damian thinks he’s too young. He takes to him quickly. He reminds him of Bash.

“You don’t have to do this,” Jules says into the bin while he vomits. It’s early in the morning. Damian was already awake when Jules shot out of bed. He’s holding Jules’ bangs out of his face.

“I don’t mind,” Damian assures him.

Jules nods limply against the rim.

“Thanks,” he says, before throwing up again.

~ ~ ~

Bash is crying into the phone when Damian calls.

“Sebastian?” Damian says, heart stuttering in his chest. “What’s the matter? Is everything alright?”

“Mommy’s fighting with Daddy,” Bash sobs. He whimpers into the phone. “What do I do?”

Damian sits on the floor, the phone cord falling over his shoulder.

“Where’s Izzie?” Damian asks.

“Izzie?” Bash calls away from the phone. A smaller voice answers. “I think she’s in her room.”

“Where are Mom and Dad?”

“The kitchen. Dad’s getting really loud.”

Damian knows. He can hear Jason’s voice. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.

“It’s ok, Bash,” Damian says. “Can you go upstairs? Just go sit with Izzie in her room.”

“Ok,” Bash whimpers.

There’s rustling. Damian can hear the stairs creaking. A door opening. A door shutting. Bash’s quiet cry. Izzie’s concerned voice.

“It’s ok,” Damian hears Izzie say. He wishes he was there. He wishes he knew what was going on. He wishes they didn’t have to be alone.

“Izzie?” Damian says, a little louder than before so they can hear him.

The phone rustles again.

“Damian?” Izzie says.

“Hey, kiddo, you ok?”

“Yeah. Bash is crying.”

“Yeah, I know. Can you do me a favor?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Can you just sit with him and cuddle for a little bit?”

“Uh-huh.”

The rustling returns. Damian knows he’s been put on the floor, can’t hear Izzie or Bash breathing in the receiver. But he hears Izzie’s voice. “There, there.”

He stays on the phone.

~ ~ ~

The next time Jason calls, Damian asks about it. About the fight. About Tim. About what Jason has been keeping from him.

“It’s fine,” Jason says, not answering. “You don’t need to worry, everything’s fine.”

Jason sounds tired. Damian doesn’t care. He feels in the dark. He feels pushed out. He doesn’t want to feel alone.

“It’s not fine,” Damian says. One of the nurses stops when he raises his voice and watches him. “You can’t tell me not to worry! I’m worried! I’m worried!” When he starts crying, the nurse tells him to end his call. He does. He lets himself be guided back to his room, laid in bed, sat with. He cries harder than he has in a while.

~ ~ ~

Damian stays for three months. After his first thirty days, he signs on for thirty more, then thirty more after that. He knows he needs it. He’s not ready to go home.

To be truthful, when the last day comes, when he packs his room, his paintings, says goodbye to Jules, he’s not ready yet either.


	3. Coming Home (To An Empty House)

When Jason comes to get him, he’s alone. They drive through Gotham from Sommerset where Meadowbrooke is. It would have been easier for them to get to Bristol, where their house was, if they took Mooney Bridge. _But we aren’t going home_ , Damian realizes when they pass Sheldon Park.

As they take the backroad up to Wayne Manor, Damian wants to cry. He’s exhausted. He feels raw. He tells Jason he just wants to go home.

“Everyone wants to see you,” Jason says. “They’ve all been worried. All your aunts and uncles flew in. They’re staying at Bruce’s.”

Damian’s chest tightens. He wants to see his mother.

“Alfred baked a cake,” Jason says, he smiles but it doesn’t reach his voice. Lately, whenever he and Damian talk, Jason can’t bring himself to speak anything but soft.

“Red velvet?” Damian asks. It’s his favorite, but his mom is allergic. If Alfred baked the cake, Tim won’t be there. It’s Damian’s way of asking without asking.

“Yeah,” Jason says.

Damian swallows, his mouth suddenly dry.

When they pull into the long winding driveway there are a slew of cars already parked. The family minivan isn’t there.

“You ok?” Jason asks.

Damian nods and they go inside.

Everyone is waiting for him in the family room.

Alfred is holding Izzie on his hip, feeding her little bites of cake. Cass and Steph are sitting on the couch, Cass’s arm around Steph’s shoulders. Dick stands behind Babs’ chair pushing her back and forth while she tries to lock her wheels so he’ll stop. Kon is off to the side, leaning into the wall and not at all at ease with the rest of the Bats, who don’t do much to accommodate him. Bash is playing peek-a-boo with Izzie from behind the couch. It makes her giggle.

They all stop when Damian walks in.

For a second, Damian thinks they’ll all either fall to their knees and cry like Jason had or run away like Tim.

Alfred sets Izzie down and walks up to him. He places a gentle, non-intrusive hand on Damian’s shoulder. He smiles brightly. He lets Damian wrap his arms around him. They’re almost the same height, but Damian still has to stand on his toes a little to get is arms over Alfred’s shoulders.

Once they let go, everyone else takes a turn laughing and clapping him on the back, welcoming him home or saying they’re glad to see him. Steph kisses his cheeks. Cass pats him on the head and says “Home.” Dick hugs him. Babs does too, making sure to run over Dick’s toes, which makes them both laugh. Kon gives him a card with his number scribbled on it. Izzie doesn’t leave his side.

The only one left is Bash.

He seems uncertain. He hangs in the periphery, almost in Damian’s sights but not quite.

Finally, he comes up, stopping an arm’s length from his brother. He looks up. His eyes are a little teary.

“I missed you,” Damian says, smiling.

Bash rushes forward and wraps himself around Damian’s waist. He pushes his face into Damian’s stomach. He squeezes tight.

Bash holds Damian’s hand for the rest of the night.

~ ~ ~

Damian thinks they will go home and see Tim, but they don’t. He’s working. Jason tells him that’s why he didn’t come.

Damian goes to his bedroom. It smells sterile. It smells like he’s been gone too long, his scent fading. There’s still a dull memory of fear lingering. The carpet is different. He thinks if he peels it back, he’ll see the stain of his blood on the hardwood. The closet door is closed. The drawers are closed. The nightstand is clean.

There is a faint lingering scent of Jason. Of Bash. Of Izzie. His mom is missing.

~ ~ ~

Tim comes in later than usual. He kicks his shoes off and goes to the kitchen, brewing a new pot of coffee. He has more work to do. He’s tired.

Jason walks down the steps when he hears the front door, frowns when he sees Tim making coffee in the kitchen.

“It’s late,” Jason says. He knows Tim is tired because he jumps when Jason speaks.

“I know,” Tim hisses back.

Jason is behind him, resting his hands gently on Tim’s hips, wide and a little fleshy from three pregnancies. Jason likes it. He kisses Tim’s neck.

But, Tim brushes him off.

Jason throws his hands in the air.

“Fine,” he grunts. “I won’t touch you. I won’t talk to you. I won’t even _look_ at you! God, Tim. What do I have to do to get you to be my freakin’ husband again!”

Tim ignores him, letting his fingers tighten around the mug in his hand.

“Tim! Tim for fucks sake say something!” Jason is yelling.

“I’ve got work to do. Don’t wait up for me,” Tim replies.

Jason has to clench his fists and take deep breaths at that. He shakes his head. He chuckles darkly, the sour sound giving Tim goosebumps.

“In case you care, your son is home,” Jason hisses. He means it to hurt. He means it to break. He really does.

Tim listens to his footsteps recede and go up the steps again.

Once their bedroom door slams shut, Tim collapses onto the kitchen floor, sobbing.

~ ~ ~

Damian wakes up in his bed for the first time in months. It’s soft. The sheets are fresh. He knows Jason changed them, the edges are crisp and tucked in a way that reminds him of the sheets at the manor. He rolls over and half expects someone to be there. No one is. His heart sinks a little, before he reminds himself his _family_ is downstairs. He has his phone again. He’s not alone.

~ ~ ~

Colin calls around noon, while Jason is putting a grilled cheese in front of him. He calls the house. When Damian answers, he cries loudly. He says he’s coming over and Damian curiously asks why, but Colin’s already hung up.

He shows up ten minutes later, out of breath, letting himself in. He’d gotten very comfortable at the Todd house, even in Damian’s absence.

Damian lets him wrap him up in his arms, lets him kiss him, even though Jason is in the kitchen watching them, lets him look him over.

“I’m ok now,” Damian says.

Colin nods. His eyes are still puffy, but he’s not crying. “Don’t scare me like that,” he says, going back to squeeze the smaller boy again.

Damian nods. He feels confident when he speaks. “I won’t.”

Jason makes another grilled cheese for Colin.

~ ~ ~

Damian and Colin lay in Damian’s unmade bed. Colin rubs his hand over Damian’s arm, avoiding the deep pink scar that’s still healing under his sleeve.

“Were you afraid?” Colin asks.

Damian nods.

“Me too,” Colin says. “What was it like?”

“Dark,” Damian says.

“Do you feel better now?”

“Sometimes.”

Colin’s breath hitches.

“I’m never going to be ok,” Damian explains. He sits up. “I’m always going to have to fight. I’m … it’s never going to be easy for me. But, I think I’m ok with that now? They taught me how to cope. How to make it hurt a little less.”

Colin relaxes and nods. “As long as you stay with me.”

“I’m not gonna go anywhere,” Damian assures him, leaning forward and kissing Colin lightly.

~ ~ ~

Damian has his first nightmare since he came home. He doesn’t scream. He doesn’t cry. He shoots upright and throws up in his sheets. He’s shivering when he gets out of bed.

He doesn’t even think about it. He walks down the steps and to his parents’ bedroom, opens the door in search of his mother.

Jason is sitting up in bed, his face buried in his hands, elbows on his raised knees. It’s dark, but Damian knows he’s crying.

“Tim?” Jason says, his voice sounding so small and broken.

“No,” Damian replies.

Jason straightens up and dries his face quickly. “Dami, uh, what’s the matter? Are you ok?”

Damian’s hands are still shaking, but he nods.

Jason turns the bedside lamp on. The sheets are pulled up still on Tim’s side of the bed.

“Where’s mom?” Damian asks.

Jason looks over to the empty side of the bed, then back to Damian.

“I … I don’t know.”

Damian’s heart leaps to his throat.

“He’s safe,” Jason says. “He texted me. He said he’s safe.”

“Oh,” Damian whispers. He gets it. They aren’t sleeping together. They haven’t in a while. He wonders if it’s his fault. “Can I sleep in your bed? I … I threw up over my sheets.”

Jason looks concerned but nods, pulling the covers on Tim’s side of the bed back. Damian crawls in. He slots himself against Jason’s shoulder when he lays down. Jason is still.

“Your mom loves you,” Jason says into the quiet.

“I miss him,” Damian mumbles, pressing his lips tightly together.

“Me too, bud.”

“Why aren’t you two sleeping together?”

“I …” Jason’s voice dies. “Go to sleep, Damian.”

Damian nods.

As he starts to drift off, he says “Tell me in the morning.”

Jason’s chest feels empty, it doesn’t have anything left.


	4. Tim

He sat outside a bar. His back is pressed up against the wall in the ally. He can see the young twenty-somethings coming out, staggering, laughing. They remind him of a time he never had. When he turned twenty-one, he was celebrating Damian sleeping through the night with a half a glass of wine. He was in bed by 9:15.

Tim doesn’t drink, but he’s also in uniform at the moment, so he’s got more incentive to stay in the shadows. Still, he thinks about how easy it would be to take a few shots of vodka or gulp down some top-shelf whiskey, how good his aching bones would feel relaxing into the warmth of his chest. It would feel so good to let go. Forget.

He watches the kids, the ones he wishes he got to be, and wishes for a different life.

~ ~ ~

Tim was still fifteen when he took the first pregnancy test. He shoved it in the bottom of the trash can and declared it faulty. He took seven more.

He continued going on patrol. He had to take extra care to cover up the bruises on his wrists and neck those days, so he usually patrolled alone. Bruce protested, but let him because Tim was stubborn and would do what he wanted anyway.

Bruce asked Jason to keep an eye out for him, behind Tim’s back, just when he can, just in his territory. Jason went out of his way though. He watched Tim during lulls in his cases, tailing him buildings away and watching him take out muggers and grade-a assholes. He’s young, but he’s got power in his punches and, despite his size, they take his assailants out.

Jason decided he liked Tim sometime after that.

One night, Tim slipped.

He didn’t check his corners or look before he leapt or something, Jason doesn’t really know what, and ended up with a gun pointing between his eyes. Jason wasn’t going to step in, he knew that Tim could handle this on his own, could easily take the guy out. But he didn’t. Tim froze. He cried a little. He shook in what Jason had thought was fear.

When the gun cocks and the thug went to squeeze the trigger, Jason dropped from his perch and knocked him out. He checked on the woman clutching her purse to her chest, giving her a once-over before sending her on her way. Then he got to Tim.

He hadn’t moved. Jason wanted to yell at him, tell him it was the stupidest thing in the world to not check himself before leaping into the ally, make sure the guy was unarmed. Tim was so stiff though, Jason was sure he’d break with the smallest breeze.

“Red,” Jason said, he tried to keep his voice gentle, calm.

Tim jumped back to himself and took off running.

“RED!” Jason yelled after him.

Jason chased Tim for ten blocks. He only caught him because Tim cut a corner and Jason’s leaps were wide and powerful enough to make the jump Tim hadn’t taken. He tackled him onto the rooftop, taking his wrists and pinning them to the ground before Tim could try to fight back. Tim was sobbing, panting. Mostly, he was angry.

“Get off me!” he growled, kicking his legs up and trying to get leverage on Jason.

Jason’s grip only tightened and he put more of his weight onto Tim, waiting for him to calm down. It took a few minutes, but eventually Tim was tired enough it took less effort to keep him from trying to run again.

“Are you calm now?” Jason asked, voice gritty and shallow.

Tim nodded.

“If you bolt again, I’ll take you out. I’m serious, Tim,” he warned.

Tim nodded again.

Jason let go of Tim’s wrists, waited a moment, then climbed off him. Tim stood up and stretched out.

“I appreciated the back up,” Tim said, his voice a little scratchy from yelling. “But I didn’t need your help.”

“Like hell you didn’t. You fucking froze,” Jason growled, moving forward again so he was in Tim’s personal space. Tim took a step back.

“I had it under control.”

“You fucking didn’t.”

“I did! God, I did! I knew what I was doing!!”

Jason stopped. Tim crouched down, putting his head between his knees.

“Tim … were you—”

“I’m fucking pregnant, Jason,” Tim cried. He kept his head between his knees, the tears falling straight onto the concrete. “He got me pregnant.”

Jason didn’t know Tim was dating. He really didn’t see much of him outside of patrols.

“You … you’re pregnant?” Jason doesn’t know what information to process first, Tim trying to get himself killed or the fact that he’s a kid and he’s pregnant and he obviously doesn’t want to be.

Tim nodded.

“What are you gonna do?” Jason asked. It was a fair question.

“I can’t do it. I can’t!” Jason isn’t sure what he’s talking about. “I don’t … I’m not ready for this kind of responsibility.”

“Ok,” Jason said. “You make an appointment at the clinic in the Bowery. I’ll drive you, take you home. “

“I can’t.”

“Then you carry. You give the baby up when it’s born, give it a chance. I’m sure there’s a rich couple in Gotham who can’t conceive.”

“I can’t.”

“Then you keep it. You puff out your fucking chest and you stick it through. You be a _mom_.”

Tim stayed crouched, raising his head. “What if … I can’t do it, Jason. I can’t. I’m not … I’m not right for it.”

“Tim, you don’t have any other options! You’re going to have to make a decision.”

“I DID!” Tim screamed, shooting upright. “I can let some lowlife get the jump on me! I can wander into a trap! I can just take too many sleeping pills! I decided! I fucking decided! And you _fucking_ stopped me!”

“No,” Jason said.

“You don’t get to make my decisions for me.” Tim’s crying harder. Jason can hardly make out what he’s saying. “You don’t even care.” He caught _that_.

“OF COURSE I FUCKING CARE!” Jason stomped his foot on the ground, took Tim by the shoulders, shook him good. “You … you can’t just bail! You aren’t allowed to. I won’t … I won’t let you. I’ll lock you up. I’ll sit next to you until you get it together. I’ll tell _Bruce_. I won’t let you.”

Tim could barely breathe. “You don’t understand.”

“Of course, I understand Tim! Do you know how many times I gave up? Do you know how many nights I’ve sat and pointed a gun at my head, because I could take it anymore? I understand! _I_ understand!”

Jason was furious, his grip purpling over an already formed bruise on Tim’s arm.

“Then let me,” Tim said, quietly. “Just let me go.”

Jason shook his head.

“No, not until you promise me. Not until you promise me I’ll see you again.”

He’s almost crying, but not quite. He’s trying to focus on his anger.

“I can’t promise that,” Tim said.

“You can. You can.”

And they stood like that for a long time. Jason waiting, clinging to Tim like he’d disappear if he let go.

Tim had bruises for days after.

But at least, Jason told himself, there _were_ days after.

~ ~ ~

Tim strips in the cave. He tells himself he’s too tired to go home, but he’s not sure he believes the lies more than anyone else does.

Bruce catches him walking up the steps.

“Hey,” he says, quirking an eyebrow. He’s asking a question. _What are you doing here_?

“Long night,” Tim supplies. “Gonna crash in a bed, if that’s ok.”

Bruce nods, but doesn’t start moving when Tim continues up the steps. He watches him vanish, making a note to text Jason and tell him.

~ ~ ~

Jason took Tim to the clinic in the Bowery.

He didn’t go in, because Tim didn’t ask him to.

In the clinic room, a young beta took his blood and urine samples with few words. A doctor came in a few minutes later.

“I’m Dr. Dean,” the alpha woman said. She can’t be much older than 23.

“You’re young,” Tim replied.

“That I am. Graduated college in record time and med school a few months ago. I’m interning now. I’m studying to be an OB. Maybe a little gynecology here and there, but mostly babies.”

“You’re an alpha.”

“Yes, but I’ve always been fascinated by omega healthcare, thought the subtle differences between omegas and the other sexes were mega awesome. Thought, why not study it. They say to do what you love.”

Tim liked Dr. Dean immediately.

“Besides, I’m lucky to know what it’s like to carry a child. My partner is also an alpha. We had a kid when I was still in med school.”

Dr. Dean pulled a picture out of her pocket. It featured a two-year old girl with dark skin, pig tail braids and a big smile.

“She’s cute,” Tim said. He’d never been a baby person, but he knew what to say to people no matter the situation.

“Thanks, I think so too.”

Dr. Dean started putting on gloves.

“Your home test was positive, you said?”

Tim nodded.

“And when did you take it?”

“About a month ago.”

“And how many did you take?”

Tim ran over it in his head, counting on his fingers. “Seven.”

“Seven? And you said your still not sure? The odds of all of those tests giving you a false positive are like a thousand to one.”

“Roughly one in seven hundred, I know. I just … I need to be sure.”

“Of course, I understand that.”

“Thanks.”

“Will you lay back for me?”

Tim nodded and leaned into the observation table.

“Lift your shirt.”

Tim pulled his shirt up. Dr. Dean poured jelly over his stomach. She rolled the ultrasound machine over and flicked it on. She pressed it firm into his lower abdomen.

“When was your last heat?”

“Uh, I think three months?”

“So you haven’t miss a heat yet? What made you think to take the test?”

“I … I shared my heat with my b-boyfriend. He came over when I wasn’t at school. It all happened so fast. I don’t think he wore a condom.”

Tim shook a little and Dr. Dean drew her hands back.

“Was … was that a consensual decision?”

Tim paused, then shook his head. “S’not his fault. I shoulda said no. Shoulda fought harder.”

“Considering you were in heat and he wasn’t, I’m gonna say I don’t really blame you for that one,” Dr. Dean said, returning to pressing against his stomach. One of the spots hurt enough Tim winced. “Gotcha,” she mumbled.

“Got what?”

“Baby,” Dr. Dean said. She pointed to the screen. Tim stared.

It wasn’t until Dr. Dean pressed a button and Tim could hear the pitter of the heartbeat from the monitor, that it registered with him. That was _his_ baby.

Tim’s ears are ringing. He’s hyperventilating. He thinks he might pass out.

“Ca-an you get the guy I came in with?” Tim forced out, clutching his pants. “H-his name’s Jason. Please.”

Dr. Dean leapt up and ran out of the room.

Tim’s breathing picked up and he tried his best to get it under control. Every time he thought he finally caught it, he lost it again.

The door opened a minute later, Jason tumbling into the room and grabbing Tim by the shoulders.

“Hey, hey,” Jason barked, “you’re ok. Tim. Hey!”

Tim looked at Jason, his breath quickening even more.

“Ah, none of that, dumbass, big deep breaths. Belly breaths.” Jason demonstrated what he wanted of Tim. Tim followed suit. “Good job, baby bird. Good job. Hey, you’re doing fine. It’s all good. Can you tell me where you are?”

“Cli-inic,” Tim muttered, just loud enough for Jason to hear. “Bowery.”

“Right. And what’s your name?”

“Timothy Drake.”

“And who am I?”

“Jason. You’re Jason.”

“And that?” Jason pointed to Dr. Dean in the corner.

“Nice doctor lady,” Tim replied, quirking his lip into a smile.

“Ah, see, you’re fine.”

“You decide that when I start fucking with you?”

“If you have it in you to make a joke, you have it in you to breath,” Jason pointed out. “See? You can talk now.”

Tim nodded his head.

“What happened?” Jason asked, sitting next to Tim.

“It’s for real now, Jay,” Tim said. “There’s … there’s a baby. I-I heard the heartbeat.”

“We knew that though,” Jason said. “You always knew that.”

“Honestly, seven tests seems a little like overkill,” Dr. Dean chimed in, chuckling a little.

“You took _seven_ tests?” Jason said. He bellied a big laugh. “You’re so fucking ridiculous.”

“Shut up. I had to be sure. I didn’t trust the first six.”

“You didn’t trust any of them,” Dr. Dean said.

“Fucking ridiculous,” Jason muttered, still laughing.

Tim smiled.

After a second, Jason stood up again.

“I’ll wait for you outside, then?”

“NO!” Tim’s volume caught everyone off guard. “I mean, no, you … you can stay. I … I’d like it if you stayed with me.”

Jason nodded and settled into the plastic chair closest to Tim.

“Would you like some pictures?” Dr. Dean asked.

Tim looked to Jason who nodded his encouragement.

“Yeah,” he replied. “I think so, yeah.”

She returned to the machine, making sure to turn the sound off before pressing the wand back in his stomach. The baby appeared again and Dr. Dean spent a few moments clicking buttons.

Tim reached out, finding Jason’s hand and gripping it with all his might while he watched the screen. Jason squeezed back.

~ ~ ~

Jason is calling Tim. Tim is still half-asleep when he answers.

“What are you doing?” Jason says, his voice hard and cutting.

“Waking up. What are you doing?”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

Tim sighs and rolls over in bed. He’s still at the Manor.

“I don’t know yet. I just … I can’t be home right now.”

“You aren’t even gonna call him? Say welcome home? Say _anything_? He’s been home for a fucking week.” Jason’s voice is getting deeper, more angry. He catches himself, takes a breath, and continues. “Sorry. I didn’t … I didn’t call to fight with you. I’m just … I’m mad. At you. At him. At fucking _Bruce_.”

“I need more time, Jason.”

“You can’t! You can’t do that. You can’t just abandon him.”

Tim sits up in bed, tightening his grip on the phone.

“I’m _not_ abandoning him.”

“You are! You stopped visiting him! You left when he came back! He _misses_ you! He’s upset, you’re not here! God, you’re … you’re being so childish, Tim!”

“Stop Jason! Just stop! I’m not abandoning him!”

“What the fuck do you call this then? Huh? I haven’t slept next to you in a month. You’ve been out of the house all week. You … you’re running away.”

“I’M DOING THIS TO PROTECT HIM!” Tim screams, hot tears running down his face.

“YOU’RE HURTING HIM! YOU’RE HURTING ME!”  
  


“FUCK YOU!”  
  
Tim hangs up. He throws his phone across the room. It hits the wall with a bang and Tim is sure it breaks.

~ ~ ~

Jason took Tim to a diner on the edge of New Town. They could see Amusement Mile from the window.

Jason ordered him a bacon cheeseburger with no pickles and got himself one with extra tomatoes.

“What are you gonna do?” Jason asked. “Have you decided?”

Tim shook his head and poked at his fries. His stomach growled at him. He wasn’t in the mood to eat though.

“Eat it,” Jason ordered, but it’s gentle. “Stop poking.”

Tim picked up the burger and took a bite, just to get Jason to stop nagging him, but the second the meat touched his tongue he was wolfing it down.

“Damn, kid,” Jason gawked, mouthful. He still had half a burger when Tim finished.

When he swallowed the last of his bite, he looked up at Jason. “Can I have another one?”

“This one won’t be a freebie,” Jason warned.

Tim nodded and Jason waved the waitress back over and ordered another burger.

When she left, Jason looked at Tim munching on fries.

“Talk to me. What are you thinking?” Jason said. If there was one thing he knew about Tim it was that he didn’t reveal himself to the world. He lived in his head, where he was comfortable. If Jason wanted to know something, he would have to ask.

“Would be easy to get an abortion,” Tim said.

“Do you _want_ to?” Jason asked.

“I think so?”

“You think so?”

“Jason, a few days ago I thought I was just gonna die and that would be that. I haven’t really thought much about it.”

“Right. Well you’ve got time right now, but your window is closing. If that’s really what you want to do.”

“How do you know so much about this stuff?”

Jason put his burger back on the plate.

“I grew up in Crime Alley, Tim. Half of the people I knew were either prostitutes or teen moms. You pick stuff up.”

“Sorry, I forget sometimes.”

“What that I’m a street rat?”

“That’s not what I meant.”  
  


“Don’t worry about it, I’ve heard it all before. I went to Bruce’s parties when I was a kid.”

“And?”

“And, all the Gotham Elite didn’t like me. I didn’t use the right forks. I didn’t let Alfred comb my hair. I was chatty. I didn’t fit in. And they took every chance they had to tell me.”

Jason shrugged and looked out the window.

“Huh. Look at that,” he said.

Tim turned and followed Jason’s gaze.

They had turned on the lights along the pier. 

“I always liked it out here,” Tim admitted.

“I know,” Jason replied.

Tim blushed. Jason did too.

“I mean … sorry … I just … I remembered you talking about it once … with Steph. I promise I’m not stalking, I’d rather leave that to you.”

“You remembered though?”

“I mean yeah. I like to know things about people. Especially people I work with.”

Tim nodded. It felt like more than just an interest in befriending a coworker.

The burger came out and Tim decided he would box it up and bring it home. Jason let him.

“I’ll take you home.”

“I can call a cab.”

“It’s just over the bridge.”

“It’s out of the way.”

“I’m taking you home.”

“Ok.”

Jason dropped Tim off. He walked him to the door. He was a perfect gentleman. Before Tim went in Jason gave him a napkin with his phone number on it.

“It’s my personal line. Call me when you decide. Or if you need to talk. I’m usually around.”

Tim nodded and held the napkin lightly, trying not to wrinkle it or let it get wet.

“See you around pretty boy,” Jason said, darting back to his car, holding his jacket over his head to keep it from the rain.

“Bye,” Tim whispered.

~ ~ ~

Tim watches his family sit down for dinner. He’s got the living room feed pulled up on his computer. Usually he only does this when he has to be out of town on business for a while or has to leave Bash home alone for a few minutes. Really it’s a glorified baby monitor, but it eases him. He likes knowing they’re all doing ok.

Well ok is relative.

Bash is fighting Jason on eating his green beans. Damian looks distant, almost gone from the world. Even Izzie, the perfect one, the baby, is refusing to eat dinner at all.

Jason rubs his hands over his face, he has to take a lot of deep breaths. He copes though. He wrangles everyone. They eat. They laugh a little. They look ok.

Tim wonders if they would miss him if he never came home.

~ ~ ~

Tim called Jason after he told the boy who got him pregnant, he was pregnant. It hadn’t gone as Tim expected. It left him feeling raw and afraid and ignoring the unsettled part of his brain telling him he was in danger. He didn’t hit Tim though and Tim thought that was a good sign.

Except the reason he has to call Jason is because he’s in an ally and he’s alone and his ribs are defiantly broken. His eye is swollen shut, so he has to redial a few times. He’s thankful he took the time to memorize the number.

“Replacement,” Jason answered. The nickname had no malice behind it anymore. He almost sounded fond.

“Jason,” Tim shuddered, wincing as he took in a breath to speak, his torso shooting with pain. Jason could hear the fear in his voice.

“Tim?”

“M’ hurt,” Tim mumbled. Spots began to appear in his vision.

“Where are you?”

Tim looked up as far as he could.

“Dunno. Was by the pier. Took me in an ally.”

“What street? What street, Tim?”

“M’ tired,” Tim said.

“Tim! Stay with me! Keep talking. Tell me what street you were one.” Jason sounded like he was moving around, opening something and typing.

_He’s getting your location_ , Tim thought.

“S’ dark. Couldn’t see,” Tim replied. “M’tired.”

“Do _not_ fall asleep, Tim. Do _not!_ ”

“Can’t.”

“You can. You _can_. Just listen to my voice. Keep talking to me! C’mon Tim!”  
  


“Tired,” Tim said, letting his eyes flutter shut.

In the darkness, it’s quiet. Tim thinks he likes it there. He doesn’t fight it.

~ ~ ~

Tim calls the house late at night. He needs to talk to Jason. He needs to ask about Damian. He needs to figure this out.

Except Damian is the one who answers.

“Hello?” his voice comes. Tim’s arm hairs raise and a shiver runs down his spine. Damian’s voice has gotten deeper in the past year. He’s lost his pup scent. He’s grown up.

Tim can’t answer.

“Hello?” Damian says again.

Tim wants to say he’s sorry. He’s sorry he ran away when Damian needed him. He’s sorry he didn’t know all the things Damian kept inside. He’s sorry it took a suicide attempt for him to notice how much he was hurting. He’s sorry he wasn’t a better mother. He’s sorry. He’s so sorry.

“Hello? Who is this?”

Tim hangs up.

~ ~ ~

Tim woke up in the emergency room. He stirred slowly, his sense coming back one by one. He kept his eyes shut. Jason knew he was awake though.

“Tim?” Jason said.

Tim let his eyes flutter open.

Jason was hanging over him, holding his hand. When their eyes met, Jason’s shoulders dropped. He let out a sigh.

“Fuck! Don’t fucking scare me like that!”

“Baby?” Tim rasped.

“It’s fine,” Jason assured him, squeezing his hand. “He’s a fighter.”

“He?” Tim’s eyes water.

“The doctors let it slip, sorry for ruining the surprise,” Jason said.

“Baby boy,” Tim said, closing his eyes again. He smiled.

“Baby boy,” Jason repeated.

“I’m ok?”

“You’ve got a broken rib. A concussion. Serious bruising. You’re on bed rest until further notice. They’re afraid you still might miscarry if you strain yourself too much.”

Tim nodded.

“I take it this means you’ve made your decision.”

“Was gonna tell you today. Picked up tacos,” Tim said.

“You didn’t have to. I just wanted to know. In case … in case something happened. In case you needed something.”

“I wanted to tell you. More than anyone,” Tim admitted.

“Thanks.”

Jason knew then that Tim liked him too. That thought was terrifying.

~ ~ ~

Tim has this reoccurring dream whenever he sleeps in a bed without Jason.

It begins in Damian’s father’s apartment. Tim is laying on his back, he’s pregnant. He’s cradling his belly. He can see inside his stomach, like he has x-ray vision or something. He can see the baby, fully formed, and smiling at him. He doesn’t know which kid it is. He always thought Damian, but it could be any of them. The baby is small and naked and doesn’t really look like a person yet.

Tim feels relaxed. He is settled. He is comfortable. He is safe.

Until he isn’t. Until a faceless thing that might be a person but no one Tim knows, is walking out and towards him. Tim can’t move. He realizes he’s not relaxed, not resting, he’s trapped. He tries to fight, to put his hands up, to move on his side, to get up and run, but he’s frozen in place.

The figure stabs him in the belly and Tim watches the baby die slowly.

He wakes up in a cold sweat, crying, every time.

~ ~ ~

Jason stopped talking to Tim after the incident in the ally.

Tim moved forward. For his son. But it hurt, still.

~ ~ ~

Tim has been standing in front of the door to his house for nearly thirty minutes. He keeps reaching out and pulling his hand back, deciding he should just leave. But he doesn’t. He can’t.

“Mom?” Damian says from behind him.

Tim freezes, his hands clenching into fists at his side and his shoulders raising to his ears.

“Mom?” Damian says again. He walks around so he’s in Tim’s sight.

The last time Tim saw his son was in the hospital. He was sleeping. Tim was trying not to look at the bandages around his arms.

“Hi,” Tim finally says. He can’t think of anything better to say, just like that day in the hospital. Only this time, he doesn’t run away.

After a few long seconds of staring at each other, Damian points to the door. “Did you … want to come in?”

Tim nods. It feels a little strange to be invited into his own house, but he follows Damian’s lead. Right now, maybe he is just a guest.

Jason is in the kitchen. Tim can smell he’s cooking Frito Pie. He can also smell the underlying scent of stress. His children’s. His husbands. His own. Things aren’t as easy as they seemed when he was looking in from the outside.

“Damian? That you?” Jason calls out.

“Yeah,” Damian replies. He bends over and unties his boots, putting them out on the porch when he finally gets them off. He stuffs old T-shirts inside them to keep them from freezing or something going to make a home inside. Jason doesn’t let the kids put their boots in the bin because they’re always dirty.

Tim keeps his boots on. He isn’t sure how this will go.

They don’t go through the kitchen. Damian leads them in so they come out on the other side of the breakfast bar. He’s maintaining distance and putting a barrier between Tim and Jason.

Tim reminds himself that Bash had called Damian when he and Jason had gotten into a particularly bad fight. He knew there was something going on, even if no one told him.

“How was it? Was Colin a gentleman? Did he pull out your seat for you?” Jason asks. He’s pulling the cast iron skillet with their dinner out of the oven. Once he sets it on the stovetop, he turns to Damian.

Tim meets Jason’s eyes and has the overwhelming urge to leave. To run away and not look back. Jason glares. His brows knit and tug down. He presses his lips together so hard they turn white. His jaw is stiff.

“I thought you were staying with Bruce,” he says. He’s keeping his voice purposefully neutral. He’s trying to maintain control.

Tim shakes his head. “Not anymore,” he replies. He wants that to be enough. He wants Jason to accept that he’s gotten over it all, that he’s just coming home, even if it’s not true.

“You should have asked,” Jason spits, turning his back again. He reaches up in the cupboard and takes down plates. He pulls five. When he notices his mistake, he goes to put it back. There is pause though. Like this was a routine and he realized he didn’t have to do it. He puts the plate back down on the counter, separate from the rest. “Are you staying for dinner?”

Tim nods. “If … if that’s ok?”  
  


Jason looks to Damian.

“Damian?” he says.

Damian shrugs his shoulders. “Dad made Frito Pie.” He doesn’t sound angry. Or happy. He sounds like he’s stating a fact, leaving the decision to Tim.

“Ok,” is all Jason says of it. “Damian set the table please.” Damian nods and comes around to the kitchen to pick up the plates. “SEBASTIAN! ISABELLE! DINNER!” There’s rapid feet upstairs and a thudding down the steps. Jason was never one to get on them about running or yelling in the house, it was Tim who did that. Tim doesn’t think that he should scold them.

When the younger Todd children reach the bottom of the steps they react very differently to seeing their mother.

It had only been a week, but Tim wasn’t around much before that. The month leading up to Damian coming home had been tense and Tim ran away when he was uncomfortable.

Bash stands close to the banister, unsure. He is looking Tim over, trying to figure him out.

Izzie, however, squeals and runs up to her mother.

“MOMMY!” she yelps, jumping into Tim’s arms.

Tim lifts her and chuckles. “Hi baby,” he says, smiling. He doesn’t quite feel it, the smile, but for Izzie he keeps it on. “Did you miss Mommy?”

Izzie nods and nuzzles Tim’s hand as he brushes her long red hair off her cheek. She needs a haircut. Her hair is thickening, loosing it’s baby softness and thinness every day. Her hair is down. Tim knows it’s because Jason can’t stand it when she cries while he does her hair. Tim can comb the wild, occasionally sticky, locks and put it up with no qualms.

“Bash,” Jason says, waving his younger son from the stairs, “dinner.”

Bash lets go of the banister and walks slowly towards the sitting area, cautiously passing Tim and sitting in the seat next to Damian.

Jason walks over to Tim and it makes Tim’s heart flutter. He only holds his hands out, Izzie allowing herself to fall into his arms and out of her mothers. He puts her in the booster seat by his own chair. Then he sits.

Tim is standing back, watching them. They look comfortable. They look happy. They look … like they don’t have room for anyone else but each other. And Tim is the only outsider here.

“I think,” he announces, surprised by his voice wavering but clearing his throat and continuing. “I think I’m going to go back. To the manor. I’m sorry. For coming over unanounced.”

Jason’s hold on his fork tightens.

“Fine,” he bites out.

Tim’s eyes water and he turns his back to his family, starting for the door. He makes it to the porch before Damian is calling out after him.

“Wait!”

Tim keeps walking down the path to the street, towards his car. Well, technically it’s Jason’s. He left him the minivan. For the kids.

“Mom! Wait!”

Tim can hear Damian’s bare feet hit the icy concrete. He stops, but he doesn’t turn. Tears are threatening to spill.

Damian is panting.

“You can’t go,” he declares. “Please. Don’t leave.”

“I have to,” Tim replies. “You guys … you’re better with your dad. I have to go.”

“No!” Damian yells. Tim turns. He looks at his son, who is standing in the cold barefoot in jeans and a t-shirt, shivering. “You can’t go!” Tears run down his cheeks. Down both of their cheeks. “Please don’t leave me again! Please! Please, Mom! I’ll do anything!”

Tim rushes forward and gathers Damian up in his arms.

“Stop that, stop crying,” Tim says, but he’s crying too. “You didn’t do anything wrong, baby. You didn’t. This isn’t … it isn’t your fault.”

“Then why! Why did you leave me, Mom? Why didn’t you visit? Why didn’t you come home?” Damian’s sobs fill the otherwise quiet street. Tim wants to bring him inside, protect him from the cold and the neighbors. He feels so vulnerable like this, against Tim’s chest. However, he’s afraid that Jason won’t let him back in.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Tim repeats. “You didn’t … you didn’t do anything wrong, Damian.”

“But you left me! You left me!”

“Because it’s _my_ fault.” Tim pulls Damian off, holding him out by the shoulders. “I couldn’t … I couldn’t protect you. From your father. From yourself. From … from me.”

Damian wants very badly to hug his mother. It’s all he’s wanted to do since he came home.

“God, you should hate me, Dami. You should be pushing me away. You should be _angry_. Jason’s angry! Be angry!”

“I’m not angry,” Damian whimpers. He moves his mother’s hands off his shoulders so he can move closer, press his cheek against Tim’s chest. “I was afraid. That I was alone. That … that you would leave me for good. That I was too much. I had pushed you away.”

“Never, baby, never. I’ll always be here for you. I’m sorry I haven’t been. I’m sorry … I’m sorry I ran away. I shouldn’t have. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.”

Damian cries hard into his mother’s jacket. He doesn’t let him go. He pulls his body so tight he thinks he might crush him, but still holds on.

“You aren’t gonna leave?”

“I won’t. I promise. I won’t leave again. I’m here.”

“Ok.”

It’s not better. Not yet. Damian is upset, still feels like he’s floating in darkness alone. His mother and father have things to work on. His brother will never forget what he saw. His sister will witness the aftermath of trauma, grow up thinking it’s normal. He will have to learn to be better, kinder, stronger. At least, in the dark, he sees people every now and then. People to hold onto. He thinks that the world looks nicer when he has people to hold onto.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Don't forget to leave suggestions in the comments for what you what to see from me next! 
> 
> Love as always
> 
> Jason


End file.
